


Love Cannot Hit the Mark

by fairyqueenmab



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining Mercutio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyqueenmab/pseuds/fairyqueenmab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon Era Mercutio pining over Benvolio</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Cannot Hit the Mark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabrielique (Sacchan90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacchan90/gifts).



From a young age, Mercutio knew that he was going to Hell when he died. He said cruel things and hurt people and broke things and he couldn't stop himself. His grandmother had told him what would happen if he didn't stop, had told him that he was sinful and wicked, and boys like him couldn't go to Heaven. So when he first wanted to kiss a boy, he wasn't afraid of what that meant for him. He was going anyway. 

He met Benvolio and Romeo and Balthasar and all the others when he was thirteen and he soon spent nearly every second of the day with them. It was alright during the day, they talked and laughed and ran around Verona causing mischief. His real problems were at night, when every self-loathing thought came into his head and he had nightmares whenever he fell asleep. So he tried to sleep less, spending his nights in other ways. He found men like him and they met in dark corners when no one else was nearby. It wasn't everything he wanted, but it was a distraction and it was enough, until the summer after he turned sixteen.

He was lying across the top of a stone wall, one knee bent and a hand behind his head, and Benvolio was sitting at his feet, staring up at the stars. Romeo was off writing love poetry he'd never be brave enough to send.

"Thou art quiet tonight," Benvolio said, not looking down at him. "Have thee no tales of the stars to regale me with?" He laughed quietly at his own words, and Mercutio couldn't breathe. He couldn't tell Benvolio that the real reason he wasn't speaking was that the words had started sticking in his throat whenever they were together. He couldn't tell him that he wasn't even looking at the stars, he was too busy trying to memorize the exact shape of Benvolio's profile. Benvolio looked down at him, eyes partially covered by a mass of curls that Mercutio wanted to run his hands through. He turned his eyes away.

"My thoughts were elsewhere," he said. It was only partially a lie. "I must sleep." He swung his legs around and lowered himself off the wall. Benvolio tapped his shoulder with his foot.

"Is something the matter?"

"No. I must go." He started walking quickly down the street. He heard Benvolio call after him but he kept going, needing to be far away. It was nearly two in the morning when he finally returned home. He'd met a man while he was out, but he was too tall, his hair too light, and he'd ended up leaving before anything had really happened. He sank down onto his bed and sighed loudly.

The worst part of it all was that he knew that Benvolio wouldn't push him away or look at him like he was a monster. He might even want Mercutio in the same way that Mercutio wanted him. But they weren't the same. Benvolio was good and generous and genuinely cared about the happiness of people around him. He never bothered or scared anyone. He was meant to go to Heaven, and Mercutio wouldn't do anything that would stop that from happening. So he backed away instead of reaching out for him and pretended.

The next few years were spent with men he met in the middle of the night. He'd find men with thin shoulders and curly brown hair and freckles on their backs and he'd pretend until it was time for him to leave. In the morning he'd meet Benvolio and the others in the courtyard and he'd try to look him in the eye without revealing any of the thoughts whirling around inside of his head. He made do with whatever touches he could get, flinging an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair when he laughed. On nights when they'd all been out drinking, he'd pretend to be drunker than he was and Benvolio, saint that he was, would wrap an arm around his waist to keep him steady. He felt guilty about it the next day, but in the moment all he could care about was his friend's warmth against his side.

It was a night like that after the Capulet's party. They stumbled along, calling after Romeo and laughing. Their arms were around each other, both using the other for support. Benvolio nearly fell and Mercutio caught him. 

"Romeo! My cousin Romeo!" Benvolio called, leaning against Mercutio as he looked around. His hair brushed against Mercutio's cheek and he held him a little closer before he realized what he was doing and moved away.

"He is wise; and, on my life, hath stol’n him home to bed," he said as Benvolio reached out for his sleeve and tugged him closer. Mercutio took a step forward helplessly, staring at Benvolio who turned around and gestured at the wall.

"He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall," he turned back, a wide smile on his face. "Call, good Mercutio." Mercutio looked away from the way the torches glinted in his eyes and up at the wall.

"Nay, I’ll conjure too," he laughed. He kept talking, the words falling out of his mouth the way they did more and more often as time went on. His gestures grew wider until Benvolio grabbed his hand, interrupting him at last.

"And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him," he whispered, looking more concerned for Mercutio than for Romeo's indignation.

"This cannot anger him: ’Twould anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjured it down; that were some spite: my invocation is fair and honest, and in his mistress’ name I conjure only but to raise up him," Mercutio said, squeezing his hand. Benvolio moved closer and put his arm around him again.

"Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, to be consorted with the humorous night: blind is his love and best befits the dark." Mercutio nodded, heart thudding in his chest. 

"If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark," he said quietly, eyes never leaving Benvolio's. He shook his head, smiling tightly. "Come, shall we go?" Benvolio glanced back at the wall and paused before he spoke. 

"Go, then; for ’tis in vain to seek him here that means not to be found." He let Mercutio pull him away, looking behind him one more time in case Romeo had appeared. 

They walked the Montague's home together in silence, tripping over each other's feet but not letting go. It was quiet all around them, and Mercutio could make out Benvolio's soft breaths next to him. He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 

"Mercutio?" Benvolio asked, looking up at him. Mercutio didn't look away, maybe because he'd been drinking or he was tired or because Benvolio was so incredibly close. There were small indentations below his eyes where the mask had pressed into his skin, and Mercutio wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his finger along them. Benvolio nudged him with his shoulder. "Mercutio." His freckles were standing out in the light, and Mercutio felt himself lean closer. Benvolio didn't move away, just stared at him with wide eyes. Mercutio stopped suddenly and swallowed.

"Goodnight," he said as he backed away. Benvolio's hand dropped to his side and he looked utterly confused. 

"Mercutio?" he said again and took a step closer but Mercutio was already walking away as quickly as he could. He knew that Benvolio wouldn't follow him. He knew him well enough to know when he wanted to be alone. Still, he listened for the sound of footsteps on the stones behind him and was almost disappointed when he didn't hear them. 

His breathing was getting faster and his eyes hurt from holding back tears as he sank down onto the ground by a wall. He'd almost ruined everything that he'd done for the past four years. Benvolio surely knew now, he was one of the smartest people he knew, there was no way that this would get past him. The look on Benvolio's face kept replaying in his head as he desperately tried to calm his breathing. He'd looked so eager and that was terrifying to Mercutio because they hadn't even kissed and he was already dragging Benvolio down. There was a small voice in his head asking if it would be so horrible, and he pushed it away, because yes it would be. Practically everyone in this city was obsessed with fighting each other for no reason, Mercutio included, and Benvolio didn't want that. He wanted peace and for everyone to live and he wanted it unconditionally. He loved people and animals who didn't usually receive love. Like that dog he'd found two years before. His tail had been run over by a cart and Benvolio had carried him around for weeks. He still followed them around, though he had grown fond of Balthasar recently and spent most of his time with him.

Mercutio stayed there, forehead pressed to his knees and arms wrapped around himself, until he could breathe normally. He wasn't sure what time it was when he finally managed to stand, but he made his way back home, slipping in quietly and going up the stairs to his room, dreading talking to Benvolio the next day. 

When he woke up in the morning, he resigned himself to meeting his friends at the courtyard where they usually met. When he walked out the door, squinting at the bright sunlight, he was surprised to see Benvolio sitting outside with his dog. His friend looked up and smiled somewhat nervously at him. Mercutio closed his eyes under the pretext of the sun hurting them, trying to work up the courage to go over. He took a deep breath and walked to his side, reaching down to scratch the dog on the head. The dog looked up at him, long tongue lolling out and a string of drool coming out of his mouth. Mercutio made a face and then looked back at Benvolio. 

"Shall we go?" Benvolio asked. He stood up and made small clicking noises until the dog stood up. He ambled along behind them as they walked down the street to the courtyard.

"Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night?" he asked at last. Benvolio shook his head.

"Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man." 

They laughed and talked about Tybalt and Romeo and everything was alright, and Mercutio could almost let himself believe that it would be fine. When Romeo appeared, he was joking as he usually did when not in the throes of passion, and it felt like all the missing pieces of Mercutio's life were fitting back into place. An old woman appeared with Peter, one of the Capulets, trailing along behind her. They yelled at her, laughing and pointing, and she yelled right back. Benvolio laughed next to him in the way that made his whole face wrinkle and his eyes close. He rested a hand on Mercutio's shoulder as he did so, and Mercutio jolted away under the pretext of getting closer to the woman. He sang and danced around her until Romeo gestured for them to go. 

Later that day, when the sun was so hot that they could barely move, they lay by the fountain, eyes closed. The dog was snoring slightly, his front paw twitching as he slept. Benvolio groaned, shielding his eyes. 

"I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: the day is hot, the Capels are abroad, and, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring." Behind him, Mercutio could hear footsteps and he turned to see Tybalt and his friends walking toward them. He groaned as Tybalt spoke. They bickered as they always did until Benvolio grabbed his arm. "We talk here in the public haunt of men: either withdraw unto some private place, and reason coldly of your grievances, or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us." Mercutio pulled away from his touch quickly.

"Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I." Romeo appeared just then, a wide smile on his face and arms swinging my his sides. That's when it all started spiralling out of control. Their swords were drawn and it wasn't a problem, they were just having fun, but then Romeo was holding his shoulders and there was a sharp pain in his side and the Capulets were running away. He looked down at his side, staring at the dark red patch forming on his shirt. 

"I am hurt. A plague o’ both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?" he shouted to his friends gathered around him. Benvolio pushed through the crowd and Mercutio covered the wound with his hand, filled with the sudden need to not scare him. 

"What, art thou hurt?" Benvolio asked, reaching out for his hand. Mercutio spun away, their friends parting as he moved. 

"Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, ’tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon." The boy looked around, eyes wide, before taking off down the streets, feet stirring up dust. One of the others picked up Mercutio's sword from where it had fallen.

"Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much," Romeo said, patting his back. Mercutio shoved at him with his free hand.

"No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but ’tis enough, ’twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’both your houses! ’Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!" He turned back with wild eyes and pulled his hand away from the wound. The others all pulled back and stared. "Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm." Romeo reached out for him again, but stopped before he reached him. Mercutio realized to his horror that he was crying and he wiped his eyes quickly, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. He felt a familiar arm around his shoulders and he closed his eyes.

"Help me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses! They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses!" Benvolio steadied him as he almost collapsed. They stumbled into a nearby home and Benvolio lowered Mercutio onto the floor. A woman looked up from her chair and Benvolio waved a hand to her. 

"Have you any water?" he asked her. She stared at them before nodding and running to fetch some. Benvolio leaned over Mercutio and held his hand. "Good Mercutio, thou cannot die, 'tis too soon." Mercutio laughed weakly, staring up at him. 

"Thou art beautiful," he murmured, reaching up to touch his face. Benvolio frowned and caught his hand. 

"Mercutio-" 

"Nay, do not speak, do not move, let me speak my piece." He squeezed his hand, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I love thee, Benvolio." 

"Mercutio, thou art-" Mercutio sighed, and closed his eyes. 

"Thou art the only Heaven I shall ever have, but thou art not the same as I. Thou shalt go to Heaven." There were tears in Benvolio's eyes, but Mercutio couldn't lift his hand enough to wipe them away. "Promise me." 

"I promise," Benvolio whispered. The door opened and the woman came in with a bucket of water, but Mercutio's eyes were already closing and his chest was stilling. "Sleep well, good Mercutio." They kept their fingers clasped together until the last breath had left his body and Benvolio managed to pull himself up onto unsteady feet and out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello at translaertes.tumblr.com


End file.
